


hold me close (or don't)

by boldlygoingnowherefast



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Discussions of death, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, M/M, this ain't a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boldlygoingnowherefast/pseuds/boldlygoingnowherefast
Summary: Charles moves slowly, as if calming a spooked horse, raising his hand until his fingers barely brush the side of Arthur’s neck. “When was the last time someone touched you in kindness?”Charles and Arthur share a moment alone before the end.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 13
Kudos: 130





	hold me close (or don't)

**Author's Note:**

> okay, I promise I'm in the middle of writing something fun and lighthearted... I'm sorry about this, really.

A painful cough escapes from Arthur’s chest and both Charles and Arthur watch as the deer they were tracking darts away. Arthur sighs on a rattling breath. He never feels like he can pull enough air into his lungs anymore, and he knows he never will. The death grip the sickness has on his lungs will eventually kill him and he’ll likely die choking on fresh air.

“This is probably a bust. I can’t sneak anywhere with this shit in my lungs.”

“You okay, Arthur?”

Arthur stands from his crouch and tries to look untroubled when he faces Charles, though he knows Charles is one of the few people who can see right through him.

“I’m fine.”

Before Beaver Hollow, Charles and Arthur went out hunting together fairly often. Even in the beginning, Arthur had known that his motivation for going out riding with Charles was more than just for his excellent tracking skills. Charles is a good man, and on that rainy day in the Heartlands on the edge of the Dakota River when Charles had dragged him close and kissed him, Arthur had realized how deep his admiration for Charles ran.

There hasn’t been time for any of that, not since the bank robbery and Guarma, and Arthur feels the distance between them even now, alone and far away from Beaver Hollow for a few blessed hours. They are two men scrambling to keep people alive in the midst of a hurricane, and that doesn’t leave them time at all for themselves.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Charles says, and Arthur finally meets Charles’ heavy gaze.

“I’m not pretending,” Arthur says, and then pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off some of the desperate exhaustion that’s pulling at his chest. “I’m doing the best I can.”

A warm hand lands on his arm, strong and steadying. “I know. I know you are, Arthur.”

Charles had put on a brave face when Arthur had told him the extent of his sickness on that ride to Fort Wallace, had offered Arthur beautiful words of wisdom that Arthur carries close to his heart, but now, with only the careful distance of uncertainty between them, Arthur can see the pain lurking in his expression.

“We’ll catch something on our way back,” Charles says, his hand falling away from Arthur’s arm. “But no one in camp is expecting us for a while. Let’s set up for the night.” Neither of them mentions the dread that’s been building in camp, the tension that grows with each day and their desire to stay away as long as they can. They both know that way of life is coming to an end, one way or another, and lingering in the forest together won’t do anything to halt that. But for now, this stolen bit of time feels precious, and Arthur is going to savor it.

They find a spot near the river where the embankment cuts steep enough that they can tuck their tent into it and keep out of view of the road. It’s peaceful here, with the gentle trickling of the river and the rustle of the thick leaves overhead. This whole part of the country is beautiful, even if Arthur feels stifled here, like a wolf that’s wandered too close to civilization and is now being hunted because of the blood in its teeth.

Arthur pokes at the fire as Charles finishes setting up the tent, lost to his thoughts until Charles’ hand settles on his shoulder for balance as he eases himself to the ground beside Arthur.

“Do you want to talk?” Charles asks eventually, when the silence between them has gone on for a few minutes. “I understand if you don’t.”

His first instinct is to deny and deflect, but he hesitates. This is Charles, solid as a rock in this whirling maelstrom that has become their lives. He’s the only one who asks if Arthur’s okay, whose head turns automatically in the fray to find Arthur and ensure he’s standing. Arthur has never known this kind of care.

“That gang, they think me unshakeable, you know?” He doesn’t look away from the fire, but he can feel Charles’ gaze on the side of his face. “They see me coughing. I know I don’t look good, neither. Sometimes I think they wouldn’t believe me if I told them I was dying.”

“Everyone’s so caught up in their own heads, it’s no surprise they won’t see,” Charles replies gently. “But, Arthur, the reason they think you’re unshakeable is because for as long as they’ve known you, you _have_ been. You’re always there for them. Even now, you’re doing everything you can to make sure they’re safe. They may not seem appreciative, but they _know_ they can count on you.”

Arthur slides his hat off his head and runs a hand through his hair. “These last few weeks I feel like a man trying to stop a train by hanging onto the back of it and digging my heels into the tracks.”

“Sometimes the best strategy is to get everyone off the train. It’s going to go off the cliff no matter what you do.”

Arthur sighs. His body is telling him to lay down and let the world continue on around him. He feels it in his soul, too, a weariness that he can’t shake, and it’s only been getting stronger.

“Let’s get some rest,” Charles says. “I know you haven’t been sleeping much.”

The tent is big enough for two, and Arthur curls up on his bedroll facing away from Charles. The distance between them aches like a living thing, but Arthur certainly won’t be the one to close it.

After a few long minutes, Charles shifts beside him. “Arthur.”

Arthur turns so he’s facing Charles. It’s dark in the tent, but Arthur can just make out the pained twist of Charles’ features.

“I miss you,” Charles admits into the quiet dark between them.

“I ain’t gone yet,” Arthur says, and his voice is strangled with the emotion curling in his throat. “'M right here.”

Charles reaches for him and begins to shift closer. The motion brings their faces closer together and Arthur jerks back as if stung. “Don’t,” he hisses.

Charles freezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Arthur closes his eyes. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

Charles moves slowly, as if calming a spooked horse, raising his hand until his fingers barely brush the side of Arthur’s neck. “When was the last time someone touched you in kindness?”

Arthur releases a shuddering breath. “You really think I deserve that?”

Charles’ fingers slide around to the back of his neck so he’s holding Arthur with a strong palm, the heat of his hand a balm to the constant pain that has become Arthur’s lungs and throat. “Yes. You deserve kindness.”

Arthur doesn’t tell him that the last person who touched him kindly and with intent was probably Charles, those weeks ago in Lemoyne when they had snuck away from Shady Belle for a few hours. Arthur remembers sighing Charles’ name with clear lungs and thinks that maybe, this is the thing his sickness has taken from him that he regrets the most. 

“I don’t know what’s coming, exactly,” Charles says. “But it feels like things are going to break any moment. This may be our last moment of peace together.” His thumb traces a careful path along the base of Arthur’s hairline. “Please let me be close to you.”

"Okay," Arthur says through a tight throat. 

When Charles pulls him in, Arthur goes willingly. Maybe it’s selfish of him, but he craves the intimacy as much as Charles seems to, and he doesn’t have the will to pull away. Charles slides his arms around Arthur’s back and tucks his chin over Arthur’s head, effectively wrapping Arthur in tender warmth. Arthur feels tears prickling the corners of his eyes, and he blinks them away.

“Charles,” Arthur says after a few moments of silence. “Whatever happens, it ain’t gonna be pretty. I just want you to know that I’m grateful for—” He swallows past the block in his throat and feels Charles’ arms tighten around him. “You’ve been a better friend to me than I could've ever hoped for.”

“Before you, I was alone,” Charles replies. “I didn’t know what it meant to trust someone with anything, let alone my heart.”

Arthur sucks in a breath. “ _Shit,_ Charles, I—”

“It’s okay, Arthur. Just stay here with me now. We’ll worry about everything else in the morning.”

Arthur doesn’t really sleep that night, and he doesn’t think Charles does either, but they remain curled up together until the first light of dawn creeps its grasping fingers through the fabric of their tent. With dawn comes the cold reality of their situation and their retreat back to a life that is quickly falling apart.

But for that night, there exists nothing but them, and Arthur thinks maybe, in a world that’s tumbling down around his ears, it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://paisleycowboys.tumblr.com)


End file.
